


love each other deeply

by hold_hands_with_sociopaths



Series: Love is Patient; Love is Kind [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Christianity, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3826390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hold_hands_with_sociopaths/pseuds/hold_hands_with_sociopaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Tavros Nitram, and your church has a new preacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love each other deeply

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and may God strike you down now if that isn’t the prettiest face you’ve ever seen.

When you walk into church that morning, as per usual for Sunday mornings at ten o’clock usually not on the dot, same as Sunday nights and Wednesday nights, the hot July air immediately causes a flush to overcome your tanned face that matches the others in the congregation. Your church is small; it’s created from a double wide previously owned by one of the patrons in the church that now sits in the pew, fanning their face with a bulletin that you could’ve collected on the table by the door once you entered. However you didn’t, all it contains is the prayer list and a warm hello from the one who writes it. And of course, the proverb for today. 

"Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13

But of course, you didn’t read that. You’d come to find that out when you overheard the woman you mentioned earlier, the one who used to own this place, reads it out to her mother who sits behind her and says, “Isn’t that a beautiful verse?”

Perhaps it is, but you wouldn’t be paying attention. 

You glance around the congregation for any new faces, but find none. All that are there are the regulars. You, your brother Rufioh, and your father. He’s the real Christian man of the family. You and Rufioh like masturbating way too much to be seen as a saint in the eyes of the Lord. Then of course the rest of the small amount of people that come to your church, the elderly couple, the family of three women and then the other couple, an older woman and man. Then their son and his rather new wife. 

It’s a small group of people, but you suppose it’s good enough. No screaming preacher or gossip or drama. Well, except there’s no preacher at all these days. Your previous leader had decided to leave when he was offered a job from the bigger church closer to town, far from your place stuck on the side of this high way leading up the mountain and to a nicer town, somewhere not as dead as this place in which you’ve grown to live, nestled between the mountains. 

Your dad hasn’t always been here, however. He moved here from Brazil as a young adult in college and decided to stay, meeting you and Rufioh’s mother, who left soon after you were born. Rufioh remembers her only slightly, and only sometimes do you catch your dad clutching a photo stuck on his bedside table you try not to look at for too long.

But back to your lack of a preacher. You haven’t had one for the last couple of weeks, leaving the preaching to a deacon or two. But according to the bulletin, which you once again overhear from the previous patron of this house, there’s a new preacher coming that’ll be permanent. A young man, who just graduated from school and is now certified to preach the word. About Tavros’s age, she comments, and you smiled as they both look over at you. Now you’re curious.

There wasn’t really anyone to talk to here. Besides the girl that was the daughter of that woman, but she was slightly unnerving in the way she seemed to enjoy the dead and over zealously spoke of bones. 

You watch the window behind the pulpit, peering out into the driveway and waiting for a new car to pull in from the gravel driveway off the road. And finally, at ten o’ six, one does. A rather shitty black car pulls in, the hood white and from a different color, same model car. It’s sort of sad looking, but who are you to judge. All you see is a mop of black hair, the driver leaned over, seemingly too big for his BMW. 

He parks beside the elderly couple’s car, and almost stumbles out. Now you can get a good look at him, you think. 

The new preacher is tall, taller than your short frame, even with your prosthetics connected to your thighs. He seems extremely thin, with a nicely sloped face, cheek bones sharp like rocks under pale skin. He has bags under his eyes, you think, but that could just be you. His hair is a curly mess that sweeps to the side in trimmed bangs, but the rest is curly and probably unbrushed. He wears a purple button down dress shirt and black slacks with probably dirty shoes, but that’s something you can only assume. By just what you can see out the window, he seems weird. But by now he’s walking to the door and entering, and everyone else is trying to get an inconspicuous look at their leader for the morning, and for mornings to come.

He walks inside, and for the first time you get a real good look at his slender face, and may God strike you down now if that isn’t the prettiest face you’ve ever seen.

He beams a smile that is honest to God breathtaking, the force of it crinkling his eyes and his cheeks, and the deacon welcomes him with a stiff handshake, and you can tell the new preacher’s is limp but enjoyable and lazy. He peers around with almost tired eyes, lidded and you can’t tell what color they are just yet. But you’re sitting on the front pew, and you should soon enough.

He wanders up to the front, waving hello to those who greet him. They don’t know his name yet, simply greeting him as ‘preacher’, and he takes it in total stride, smile plastered on but it grows to be more relaxed and real looking. He seems happy to be in a smaller church, so comfortable. 

The deacon introduces him as your new preacher, and says his name is Preacher Gamzee Makara. 

You think it’s a weird name, but who are you to talk? Your name was Tavros. You offhandedly think that both your names have the same number of letters, and for some reason that makes you think of how much you both already have in common.

The deacon leaves, and then Gamzee speaks, and God forgive you but his voice is like a demon’s sickly sweet drawl and if you’ve heard anything about the devil, you’d imagine his voice sounds like this.

“Good mornin’, everybody.” he says, and smiles. “My name is Gamzee Makara, but you all can call me Gamzee, or Preacher, or Preacher Gamz, or whatever you please.” he says, and laughs slightly with the congregation. You laugh with them, even though it wasn’t that funny.

“Now, I up and understand I’ll be y’all’s preacher these days, and I’m thankful to have been invited to this kind little place. I can see you m- people are already real lovely.” he says, and you don’t know what he was gonna say just then.

He then pulls out a worn, brown bible from his case and puts it on the podium, turning to a page with what seems to be notes stuffed onto that page on a piece of paper. He pulls it out and places it beside it, then sighed and smiles right at you, and fuck if you didn’t blush like some kind of child. You think he notices, because his smile broadens.

“Let’s turn to Galatians 5:13, and have a word of prayer.” he says, and bows his head. Usually you don’t pray, but you bow your head and close your eyes, and listen to his words as he thanks God for allowing him to be here today, and thanking Him for the congregation in the church today.

When he lifts his head with an ‘amen’, he smiles at you again then turns to his bible.

“Today, for my first sermon, I think I’ll be up and teachin’ on Loving Others.” he said, and you notice some people nod and turn in their bibles to the correct place. When he begins, you actually listen in church.

“One of the most wack sentences in the Bible goes like this: "If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing". It jars us because Jesus said, "Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends"; and he taught that one of the ways to love our enemies and do good to those who hate us and bless those who persecute us is to give freely of our items. But here, this guy Paul says you can give everything away and even lay down your life and yet not be acting in love. You can make the final sacrifice and be lost forever.” he says, the words are a little struggled through his gravel voice as he seems to look to his notes for help.

You can tell he usually doesn’t talk like this, and the properness of his speech is cut in by some jargon he seems to enjoy, like calling one of the verses in the bible ‘wack.’ 

But you find it so endearing, the way his eyes flitter around a little nervously, and his face flushes as he continues and messes something up, but you can’t tell. You’re focused on the way his mouth moves when he talks, how it shifts from one side to the other, and the volume of his voice raises and lowers, perhaps controlled or uncontrollable. He’s beautiful and he’s scared and you think you love the preacher.

 

After service, you’re brought to your senses and going in line to shake hands with the preacher as your father instructed you to do. He asks if you thought he was good, and you mention he was very good, and your father smiles at this. You’re the last in line, and when you reach Gamzee you look up at him and finally see his eyes are green. You smile, nervous, and reached out to shake his hand. He smiles back at you, and clears his throat.

“What did you think of the sermon?” he asked, and it catches you off guard as he shakes your hand and his hands are freezing cold.

“It was uh, good. I really liked the topic.” you mention, and he grins brighter. 

“Well ain’t that just the best. I’m awful glad you liked it.” he said, and then releases your hand slowly and swallows. 

“Yeah. To tell you the truth, I uh usually don’t really listen. But I really liked yours.” you say, and he laughs loudly, and you laugh too.

“Well ain’t that somethin’! I’m real happy you gave me the time a day. What’s your name?” he asked, and you blush.

“Tavros Nitram.” you say, then looked over. “I think we’re about the same age. I’m twenty.” you say, and he smiles.

“This mot- guy is twenty-four.” he hummed, and you smiled. You notice he keeps correcting himself from saying something, and it’s truly adorable. 

“That’s not too far off.” you comment, and he smiles and shakes his head.    
“Nah, course not, Tavros.” you practically swoon, “Say, I’m doin’ another sermon on love and all that stuff tonight. Can I expect you back?” he asks, and you grin nervously.

“Uh, of course. My dad always makes me come.” you mention, and get to hear him laugh again, and you smile. 

He runs a hand through his curls, and grins down at you, natural and sweet and it’s so lovely. “That’s great. I’ll see you then, Tav.” he says, and then your dad calls you to leave.

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you’re in love with the preacher.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first gamtav fanfic, so thank you for reading.


End file.
